


Hell on the Engine

by stoplightglow



Series: Circuit 'verse [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Motorcycles, Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoplightglow/pseuds/stoplightglow
Summary: 2020. Pete Wentz's side of the story.
Relationships: Gerard Way & Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump & Pete Wentz
Series: Circuit 'verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755916
Comments: 28
Kudos: 70





	Hell on the Engine

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to nat for beta. please enjoy.

**APRIL 8, 2020**

**CHICAGO, ILLINOIS**

**MILE 0**

It’s not like Pete is trying to keep up to date on Circuit news. He doesn’t care about that shit anymore. But he and Patrick are using the dryers right below the laundromat’s TV, which happens to be set to the hourly news, and he can’t help but overhear. 

“And now in sports, we’ve got the first look at an updated roster for the fourteenth annual Circuit tour,” boasts some hokey reporter. Pete doesn’t look, focusing on feeding quarters into his machine instead. It doesn’t matter to him. He doesn’t watch the race anymore. He knows Patrick still does, occasionally, but he has the decency to keep his back turned in solidarity. “Keep in mind, qualifiers will continue to run around the country until May first, so our list is subject to change. But for right now, we can tell you. . .”

Pete rolls his eyes as hard as he possibly can. God, it’s such a fucking spectacle. The worst part is, he can feel other people in the laundromat gravitating towards the TV, giving the announcement their undivided attention.

The newscaster finishes, “In an unexpected turn of events, legendary racer Gerard Way will be competing for the first time in six years.”

Pete freezes. Next to him, Patrick fumbles with the laundry basket he’s holding, and it clatters to the ground. That can’t be true. It may have been six — almost seven — years, but Pete hasn’t gotten over what happened. There’s no way  _ Gerard _ has. 

“They’ll say anything to bring in viewers these days,” Pete says loudly, over-casually. Maybe if he can get these strangers sorting their lights and darks to believe him, he can convince himself too. “Gerard Way is retired.”

“Don’t cause a scene,” Patrick says under his breath. He moves into Pete’s space, taking the quarters from his palm and slotting them into the dryer himself. It’s only then that Pete realizes how much his hands are shaking.

“It can’t be real.” Pete works hard to bring his voice down to Patrick’s level.

“It might be. So what if it is? We won’t watch. And it’ll all be over by June.”

But Pete hardly hears him, not over the ringing in his ears. “He can’t do that. Just show up like nothing happened. Like he didn’t  _ do _ anything.”

Patrick sighs and sets Pete’s dials for him. “Like I said, we don’t have to watch. You can pretend it’s not happening.”

Yeah, right. Pete’s been trying to pretend things didn’t happen since he was eighteen. He can’t sit with it, no matter what he does. He can’t get rid of it, either. He walks around, haunted, because he has no other choice.

And now Gerard Way has decided that he’s done grieving over the greatest tragedy of Pete’s life, and naturally, what he really needs is another jaunt in the primetime TV spotlight.

No. No way. Gerard has so fucking much to be sorry for, and someone needs to remind him of it.

“We need to get in that race,” Pete says. 

“What?” Patrick swings to look at him straight on. “Dude, we haven’t competed under the Circuit name in years.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Pete points to the TV, which has switched to a bit about a dog who helps sick kids, but whatever. He ignores how his finger is still trembling. “They’re still running qualifiers, and we’re better than all those brainwashed minor league kids.”

“I thought we agreed that the Circuit isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Yeah, we did.” At least, that’s what Mikey had said.

“Right.” Patrick nods. “So don’t drag us all into this so you can have your revenge, or whatever it is you think you need. You’re better than that, Pete.”

“No, I don’t think I am.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow at him. As usual, he refuses to take Pete’s bullshit. The whirring sound of their neighbor’s spin cycle fills the silence.

“I know it’s still your dream, Trick, even if we don’t talk about it anymore,” Pete says at last. “Andy and Joe’s, too. Come on, do this with me. Don’t make me go alone.”

Voice pitching up, Patrick says, “You’d race without us?”

“Yes.” Even Pete’s not sure if he’s bluffing.

Patrick stares at him for a long, hard moment. “You’re so fucking full of bad ideas.”

That’s not a no. “Yeah. And?”

“And you need to ask Joe and Andy before you make any plans, Jesus.” Patrick puts his elbows on the dryer and leans so his head is in his hands, shaking it back and forth like he can’t believe himself. His hat comes off a little bit so he tugs it back down. “Qualifiers end in, what — twenty three days? We don’t have time to train for this.”

“We’re already trained. We just need to tighten up.”

Turning his head to look at him, Patrick says, “Tell me this is about more than Gerard Way.”

Pete doesn’t hesitate. “It is.”

“Alright. Tell me this is about more than Mikey.”

Pete clamps his mouth shut. He’s not that good of a liar.

“Okay.” Patrick keeps his tone level. Pete can bullshit all he wants about everyone else’s dreams, but Patrick will always see through him.

“I’m sorry,” Pete says for lack of anything better.

Patrick sighs and finally stands up again. “Let’s just finish our laundry.”

**MAY 1, 2020**

**CHICAGO, ILLINOIS**

**MILE 0**

The four of them ride hard, play nice, and they make it. They qualify for the Circuit.

Joe pulls them all into a group hug afterward, professing how happy he is that they can finally talk about the race and how he never thought they’d get here. It feels good on the surface, like champagne and confetti, but deep in Pete’s gut, something sinks low.

A voice in the back of his mind whispers that this isn’t it. This isn’t what Mikey would have wanted.

Pete tells it to shut up.

**MAY 17, 2020**

**DENVER, COLORADO ➝ KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI**

**MILE 1,163 - 1,767**

Andy moves in first. They’ve practiced this maneuver, and each of them knows their role, but Pete’s heart still hammers in his chest as he watches. He may talk big game, but trying to overtake Gerard Way is no joke.

They’d used a different ploy on Gerard a couple of days ago, back on the first leg to Barstow, one that barely even needed Pete. Joe and Andy had handled it perfectly well on their own and chewed up plenty of Gerard’s time. Watching the ordeal had made Pete feel slightly slimy, though, like his friends were doing his dirty work for him; he had to remind himself that Andy and Joe want to move up in the rankings for their own reasons. To them, Gerard is just another racer.

Andy slows down a few paces behind Gerard, in his blindspot. Pete takes that as his cue to creep up on Gerard’s right. As soon as he’s close, Patrick and Joe swerve towards Gerard at the same time. The sudden attack makes Gerard panic, and he releases his throttle with a jolt, falling behind the four of them.

They rush to fill the road in front of Gerard, blocking him. Pete watches in his mirrors as Gerard’s motorcycle lurches and falls back like a caged animal. Over the wind, Pete hears him shout, "Hey jackasses, do you mind?"

It’s the first time Gerard has ever spoken to Pete. The realization makes Pete’s insides twist. He squeezes his stupid silver Circuit bike handlebars until his knuckles pop, and he holds their barricade steady.

**MAY 17, 2020**

**KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI**

**MILE 1,767**

“This food is better than I thought it would be,” Andy remarks as he shovels a spoonful of roasted carrots into his mouth. “I thought it would be like a high school cafeteria, but damn, even their vegan stuff is good.”

“Yeah,” Pete says distractedly, looking past Andy’s shoulder. He hasn’t touched his food yet, so he can’t really weigh in. He’s too busy watching the door.

After the day’s stunt, they had all delayed eating when they first arrived at the checkpoint for fear of what Gerard would do if he saw them. Mikey had once slipped into conversation that Gerard kept a knife on him during the Circuit, and Pete isn’t looking to find out if that is still the case. So he keeps an eye on the entrance in case they need to flee.

Patrick nudges him in the side. Lowly, he says, “Eat something, moron. You need it.”

Pete blinks, startled. He didn’t think anyone had noticed. “I’m—”

Patrick points to the door with his fork. “Yeah, you can eat and stare, I promise.”

With a sigh meant to tell Patrick how insufferable he is and how much Pete loves him, Pete stabs something on his plate and lifts it to his mouth without looking. That seems to satisfy Patrick.

“That was pretty fucking sweet, today,” Joe says out of nowhere. He’s got greens in his teeth. “Like, did you ever think it would be us out there, pulling shit like that? I know we  _ talked _ about it all the time, but did you ever think we’d actually get here?”

“Yeah, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime,” says Patrick. “It’s crazy out there, but we definitely need to remember how lucky we are to be here.”

From his tone of voice, it’s pretty clear who Patrick is talking to.

**MAY 18, 2020**

**KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI ➝ NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE**

**MILE 1,767 - 2,322**

It’s almost inane, to try the same trick on Gerard Way two days in a row, but it’s the most effective idea they’ve got. Yesterday, Pete had spent the whole leg wondering when Gerard would wisen up and see their tactic for what it really is — a Turnpike move — and sneak past them. But he never did. Maybe he’s lost his edge.

They’ve swapped positions in order to maintain some element of surprise. As Pete edges towards Gerard on the left, Andy mimicking him on the right, he yells out some threat, something meant to mask his own fear. It must work, because Gerard tenses. If there’s one thing Pete knows how to do, it’s put on a show. Sometimes he can even fool himself.

Gerard’s hand shifts to his handlebar brake. He’s about to give in. Pete lets out a sigh of relief. This is the worst part, when their engines are inches from entangling and throwing them all down onto the asphalt. When people could snap necks. When people might leave behind loved ones, leave behind ghosts. Pete’s glad it’s almost over.

Just as Pete’s sure they’re in the clear, out of fucking nowhere, _ Frank Iero _ appears. Frank slams on his brakes and careens wildly in front of them. Shocked, Pete loosens his grip on his throttle. The road was already crowded with five bikes. Now, with Frank in the mix, it’s all Pete can do keep from veering into Patrick.

Gritting his teeth, Pete twists, trying to overcorrect and keep Gerard in place. At the same time, Frank flips up his visor and yells something at Gerard. Pete can’t hear what he says, but it spurs Gerard into action — he flies past them, free from their trap before it could even fully form.

Rage erupts in Pete. The guilt that had been burrowing in his stomach evaporates all at once. He can’t believe he got distracted. He’s fucking better than that. 

He narrows his sight down to just Gerard and the road. Leaning forward, he puts everything he has into his bike. This is why he’s  _ here. _ He can’t be left behind. Gerard needs to get a taste of all the defeat Pete has carried around for nearly seven years.

But it’s no use. Gerard is too fast.

Pete doesn’t catch him for the rest of the leg, or for the rest of the Circuit.

**MAY 22, 2020**

**NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK**

**MILE 3,355**

At the banquet, Pete tunes out the endless onslaught of speeches. He used to eat these up, watching them on TV in Andy’s basement as a kid as they all argued about who was going to make it onto that stage first. He was so goddamn naive.

Vaguely, he registers Billie Joe Armstrong take the stage and introduce Frank Iero as this year’s victor. Pete puts his head in his hands and looks down at the table, tracing the pattern of the fabric covering it with his eyes. 

He doesn’t really notice Frank go off-script, so when he utters the name  _ Mikey Way, _ it catches Pete completely by surprise. His heart stops beating for a second. He sits paralyzed, still staring at the tablecloth he suddenly couldn't care less about. 

“Did he just—” His voice comes out as a squeak. Patrick turns to him first, his eyes blown wide.

"Though I never had the privilege of meeting him, I don't doubt for a second that he could have beat every racer in this room,” concludes Frank. The banquet hall is unbearably still. As Frank walks off the stage, all Pete wants to do is stand up and scream at him, demand he apologize, demand he keep talking about Mikey, Pete doesn’t  _ know. _ But he can’t utter a word. All the jagged pieces inside of him are colliding. He’d had no time to prepare, to build up a wall.

He squeezes his eyes shut and a tear slips out. He swipes at it, hiding his face further so the cameras won’t catch him. Mikey never wanted to be on the Circuit, and neither does Pete right now. He needs to be somewhere else. He can’t just stay here in his itchy fucking tuxedo and act like everything is fine, like the past isn’t crushing him harder than an anvil. A motorcycle accident would hurt less.

When the applause starts up for Frank, Pete sweeps out of the room, still keeping his head down. Only once he is at the double doors of the banquet room does he look back and realize Gerard is gone, too.

Of course Gerard would leave. He always leaves when he’s needed most.

**MAY 23, 2020**

**NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK ➝ CHICAGO, ILLINOIS**

**MILE 3,355 - 4146**

In the end, Andy, Joe, and Patrick all celebrate finishing in the top half of the most competitive motorcycle race in the country. Pete returns to Chicago with nothing but new rings under his eyes.

**SEPTEMBER 10, 2020**

**CHICAGO, ILLINOIS ➝ BELLEVILLE, NEW JERSEY**

**MILE 4146 - 4,928**

Every September, Pete tells himself he’s in Jersey to see his mom. He hasn’t seen her since the Circuit ended, so he’s past due for a visit; they cook together and he helps her move junk out of the garage, and he’s happy to be with her. But it’s not like Pete goes anywhere, does anything without thinking of Mikey.

When Pete arrives at Belleville’s cemetery, there is another motorcycle in the parking lot. A cherry red Harley. Fuck, no.

Pete takes a deep breath and reminds himself that there are a lot of cherry red Harleys in the world. Still, he purposely parks as far away as possible, because the sight of that bike next to Pete’s inherited yellow Yamaha would just be too familiar.

Gravel crunches under Pete’s feet as he walks beneath the wrought iron arch and up the path. The graveyard looks exactly the same as it always has, except the weeping willows’ leaves drag another year closer to the ground. Nothing changes here. Nothing gets better.

The trail forks and Pete splits off to the left, staring at his boots. He doesn’t want to look up and have his hunch confirmed. He doesn’t even know what he’d  _ do, _ then — he’d gone on the Circuit to give Gerard what he deserved, and he’d failed. He’d come here to grieve over that loss and Mikey in peace.

Maybe he should just turn around. He still hasn’t raised his head, hasn’t opened Schrodinger's box to see if his dignity is dead or not, but his feet have kept shuffling forward of their own accord. Sooner or later, Gerard is going to hear his footsteps. Maybe he should get out while he can.

Before he can decide, though, a distant voice calls, “Pete  _ Wentz?” _ and Pete’s head snaps up to see Gerard Way staring at him.

He could probably still run for it. He could. But it’s like he blinks, and suddenly he is standing next to Gerard in front of Mikey’s grave.

“What the hell are  _ you _ doing here?” Gerard’s body language is confused, his arms folded but his expression open, like he’d thrown his walls back up in a hurry and not all of them had held. He wipes his nose on the sleeve of his racing jacket, sniffing. Pete realizes with a start that he’d been crying.

“The same fucking thing you are,” Pete says, trying to keep his impenetrable layer of resentment intact even as his hands start to shake in his gloves.

Gerard’s eyebrows reach an impossible height. “Mourning my dead little brother?”

The directness of the question knocks the wind out of Pete. How can Gerard say that out loud? Where is his  _ guilt? _

“Yes.” Pete bites the inside of his cheek. This is too much. He should be gone, racing away on his motorcycle by now. “Telling him happy birthday.”

“Did you fucking—” Gerard lowers his voice and takes a step away from Mikey’s grave, almost like he doesn’t want his brother to hear him. “Did you hear Frank talk about him at the banquet and come here to, what? Torment me?”

Even standing atop the ground where his brother lies, of  _ course _ Gerard has to be the main event. Pete feels some of his fear leak out as his blood starts to roil the way it usually does when he thinks about Gerard Way. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve been coming here for the past six years. Where have  _ you _ been?”

It’s a rhetorical question. They both know how long Gerard has been cowering in LA. But the way Gerard’s face darkens is an answer in and of itself.

“I did what I had to do,” Gerard spits. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

“It’s  _ all _ of my fucking business,” Pete counters.

“Yeah? And why is that?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“Don’t act like I don’t know  _ what, _ asshole?”

“That it’s your fault!” Pete bursts out. He can practically feel Patrick’s hand on his shoulder, telling him to rein it in, to keep it down, to not disturb the strangers in the laundromat. But Patrick’s not here now. “I lost him because of  _ you!” _

Silence draws out long and thin. Gerard just stares at him. Pete blinks rapidly, holding back tears.

Then, something behind Gerard’s eyes shifts all at once. His jaw unclenches and his arms uncross. Pete wishes he could stop watching him, that he could just walk away, but there’s still a teenager inside of him yelling,  _ Holy shit, that’s Gerard Way, right in front of you! _

“You’re Pete,” Gerard says, stupidly, like that’s some kind of revelation. He must catch the expression on Pete’s face, because he barrels on, “No, you’re  _ his _ Pete. You’re Mikey’s Pete. I never — I never knew.”

“Bullshit,” Pete growls. Gerard sounds so earnest, but Pete doesn’t want to believe him. He doesn’t get to turn this around so easily. “I was with him for a year. You had to know.”

“No, I didn’t. That last year, we mostly talked about racing.”

Mostly racing? Mikey never rambled about Pete the way Pete did about him? He has to hold back a flinch. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to know you,” he lies.

Gerard shifts, and Pete notices that his hands are clenched at his sides. He’s got one glove off. Pete catches a glimpse of ink on his wrist before it twists out of sight. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Gerard says.

Pete’s mouth twists nastily. “Of course you would try and—”

Gerard interrupts, “It wasn’t  _ anyone’s _ fault.”

Pete’s expression falls as the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He steels himself, ready to reject the sentiment. But when he opens his mouth, the dam inside him breaks. His eyes well up and hot tears streak down his face.

Gerard looks at him knowingly, his own eyes still bloodshot. “Where were you?”

“In Chicago,” Pete says, voice breaking pathetically. “I found out through a phone call.”

“Me, too.”

“You should have been there,” Pete accuses. But that’s not what he means, not really. That’s not who he actually blames.

Gerard nods like he can read between the lines. “I know. I should have. But even if we could have stopped it, it’s not our fault.”

“How can you believe that?”

“Because I have to. It’s the only way I can live with myself.” Gerard’s chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath. “Look, he can’t forgive you anymore, okay? You have to forgive yourself.”

Pete swipes at his face. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Forgive me.”

Gerard slips on the glove he’d been missing, fastening the strap and flexing his fingers. Pete can’t see his tattoo anymore. “Does it really matter what I think?”

Before Pete can decide on an answer to that, Gerard steps forward, clapping his hand over Pete’s shoulder. He simply says, “You did good.”

Pete doesn’t know what he means; he could be referring to this year’s race, how Pete took care of Mikey, or how Pete just utterly embarrassed himself in front of his childhood hero. He doesn’t get to ask, because Gerard lets go of Pete and walks away. As he goes, circling behind the grave, he rests his fingers on Mikey’s headstone.

Mikey’s inscription reads,  _ SON, BROTHER, FRIEND. LOVED SO GREATLY AND LOST TOO SOON. SEPT 10 1995 - MAY 27 2013. _ Gerard’s hand floats over  _ BROTHER. _

Once he is gone, Pete stands very still. He’s stopped crying, he notes absently. He searches in his chest for the anger he normally feels while standing in this spot, that he felt just a few minutes ago, but all he can find is melancholy. And a little bit of relief.

He could say something to Mikey. But after seven whole years, he’s not sure he has anything left to say.

He reaches out and touches the word  _ LOVED. _ Then, he walks away from Mikey’s grave and back down the path.

Gerard is still in the parking lot when Pete gets there. He’s hovering over Pete’s bike, not quite touching it. When he hears Pete approach, he straightens and turns to look at him. “I was wondering where this ugly thing went.”

Pete almost smiles. The motorcycle  _ is _ kind of hideously bright, or would be, if it hadn’t belonged to Mikey. “Your mom gave it to me before she and your dad left town.”

Gerard trails his fingers over the handlebars. Pete watches, wondering what kind of memories Gerard has with the bike, what’s coming back to him right now. “That must mean you deserve it.”

Pete’s not sure if he agrees, but he doesn’t argue. He plucks the keys out of his pocket and dangles them in the air. “You want to take her for a ride?”

Gerard’s eyebrows draw together for a moment as he considers, but ultimately, he says, “No, I can’t. I promised my boyfriend I’d meet him for lunch.”

Shrugging, Pete flips the keys into his palm and closes his fist. “Offer’s open.” It’s some sort of apology; this is their common language. Gerard seems to get it.

Once he’s settled onto his Harley, Gerard nods at Pete. “Maybe I’ll see you here next year.”

“Or on the Circuit,” Pete adds.

Gerard shakes his head. “No, I’m retired. So maybe you and your friends will have a shot now.” Pete swears he grins, but before he can be sure, Gerard pulls his helmet on and kicks his engine to life. With a wave, he’s gone, sneaking through traffic and out of sight. 

When Pete starts his own ignition, the Yamaha groans underneath him. It’s long overdue for a tune up, especially after the ride from Chicago. 

Patting its yellow side covering, he tells the bike, “I know, I hear you. I’m no Mikey, but I’ll get you fixed up.”

He’s still learning how to mend things, but he’ll try his best.


End file.
